To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 5
Subject:
RE: Questions
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I took a few days off from la escuela because Nick is still dead and Sarah hates me and what’s the point? But unfortunately Mom forced me to go back. She doesn’t want me around on her day off so she can be loud with Fart Weasel. She actually said that to me. I don’t know if she intended to disgust me out of bed, but that’s what she succeeded in doing. [Brynn—have you considered availing yourself of the guidance counselor? Please stop and see me after class.]
Within the first fifteen minutes of class, Mr. Grimm gently but repeatedly noted how thoughtful it was for you to have written back to me, and that the “courtesy of my reply” to you might be “therapeutic.” When I told him I couldn’t think of what to write (that was fit to send), Mr. Grimm gave me a list of questions to answer about myself for you. As if you don’t have better things to do than read this.
1. Are you who you want to be?
I don’t know who I want to be, but if I think about it—no. How could I want to be … what I am now? I can tell you who I used to be. That might be more interesting. In ninth grade I was still an Honors student. I was on the debate team. The newspaper and debate people were pretty much the same, and they liked to sit around talking about politics and world leaders and how the world was going to hell. I didn’t like doing that. My mom and dad had gotten divorced, Nick died, and we had to move to a crappy house in East Bumblefuck, Pennsyltucky. [What is another way you could describe our rural, economically depressed region?] I couldn’t deal with the world’s problems. I had too many of my own.
What kept me going for a while was the fact that I was also totally falling in love with the queen of the ninth-grade nerds, Sarah Livingston. I told Sarah I loved her on Halloween of freshman year. We were at a school dance. I pulled her over to the coatroom (the closet … I know, right?) and said it just like that. “I love you, Sarah.” I do that. Tell people how I feel. It’s like a nervous tick.
She looked kind of shocked at first, but then she pulled me behind a rack of parkas and we made out until her dad came to give us a ride home. She was my girlfriend ever since then. I think she came out to her parents right after that, and they seemed cool with it. I never told Mom, because then I’d have been killed or rehomed with weirdos from the Internet or something.
We were together from that day freshman year until this past summer, when she dumped me. I was “too much drama” for her. She had to focus on graduating in the top ten of our class and shoving her nose up whoever’s ass was most useful at the time. I gave up on that kind of thing not long after I started dating Sarah. Even though I gradually slipped away from the Honors/AP crowd and even the Academic crowd, it was still enough for almost two years that I could make Sarah laugh, that I was the chill one while she was the one bent on Making the World a Better Place. But then it wasn’t.
Who I am now? I don’t even know. My ability to care started to erode the day Nick died and washed away completely after I was kicked off the paper. Since I hate being home, I mostly go hide in the library at school or the nice, big one downtown. I like listening to books about faraway worlds that exist only in the imagination. Or I watch or listen to you. You are a debate and newspaper kid all grown up, and you know what you are talking about. It freaks me out, all the shit going on in the world. But you are so cheerful when you talk about it. Like maybe there is something to be hopeful about. If I could be anything, maybe I would be that. Hopeful. Someone who could give hope to someone else.
My computer time is up and thank God, because if I ever sent this, I have driven well past the borders of overshare city a million times by now. Hello, Rachel Maddow intern! I hope you likey the melodrama! [Brynn, your candor is powerful, and I appreciate your attempt at answering these questions. But keep in mind your audience might benefit from more exposition and different language to appreciate your points? I’m just spitballing here. Please see me either before the school day begins or after class.]
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 9
Subject:
Breaking news
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I usually don’t have news that is late breaking, so much as old news that breaks things. Like my heart, for instance.
Today Sarah wore a pink cardigan over a black tank top. It was warm, so she also wore a skirt. Girls in skirts kill me.
She was talking to Nancy, another friend I had when I was in newspaper. They were kind of whispering and giggling, and Nancy slipped her arm around Sarah’s waist.
Girls who move on to other girls also kill me.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 10
Subject:
Questions
Dear Rachel Maddow,
Question two that Mr. Grimm suggested I answer for you: Do you like school? No. Not even a little.
Even if I thought about trying to learn something at school on purpose, the blue room curriculum isn’t exactly enthralling. Lacey makes it almost bearable, but she is busy helping other people most of the time. And of course school sucks mostly because Sarah is there and she won’t even look at me. Ace reporter Justin told me that Sarah left the paper to devote her time to Student Government. I knew that she was going to do that, as she never stopped talking about it over the summer. She thought conquering important issues like the environmental impact of cafeteria trays and serving locally sourced foods at the school dance would lead to Bigger Things.
Sadly, she was the only one I would ever talk to about Nick. She was the one who knew everything. I desperately wanted to text her to freak out about his two-year absence. How it had been so long and not long at all.
But I knew she wouldn’t want my current “drama” popping her bubble of Important Life Work.
To make matters even better today at school, Nancy, the woman possibly vying for the position of Brynn 4.0 in Sarah’s heart (less drama, more GPA points), stopped me in the hallway to sign a petition about the stupid trays.
“Don’t bother with her,” said Adam, current SGA vice president and unbearable human being. “She won’t care.”
“Issues affect us all, Adam,” she said. I looked at her for a second, and then at him, to see if they’d acknowledge that I was a person they used to hang out with. That maybe I was a thinking, feeling human being even if I wasn’t in Honors classes anymore.
They did not.
“I like trays. They can be used as weapons,” I said, and kept walking.
“See? What’d I tell you?” said Adam.
I spun around to face him. Adam was thin, so thin. Part of me wondered if he wasn’t such an ass because he was hungry all of the time. He was tall compared to the rest of his wrestler dude bros. His dark, wavy hair was piss-me-off perfect. “Does it bother you that presidential authority goes unchecked these days, and that we are basically fighting a third world war and barely even a peep, a peep I tell you, is heard from Congress? No? I doubt it. Because you are too busy worrying about trays.”
Nancy’s eyes went all wide, and Adam just rolled his. I had been listening to your audiobook, Rachel, to keep me company the last few nights. It all kind of came to me in that moment.
“Maybe you should tell your dealer to stop giving you the cheap stuff. ’Cause you’re going mental.”
I strode back to him and stood there, eye to eye now. Whether he was a wrestling god or not, I was angry and didn’t care. I c
ould take him. “Take it back,” I said.
He had gotten to me and we both knew it, but he had fired the first shot before I could dodge.
“What?” He smirked. “Going to run home and cry to your big brother? Oh, wait. That won’t work.” He laughed then. It sounded choked, like he was trying to be a hard-ass but couldn’t quite pull it off.
I stepped back, shocked. Westing was a small town where everyone knew everyone. That was a low blow. Nick had been a friend of Adam’s older brother, so Adam knew him, too.
“Adam!” snapped Nancy. “What are you doing?” I felt her put her hand on my shoulder. “Brynn, just go. I’m sorry.”
Nick told me once that Adam’s dad terrorized Adam and his brothers. That I should steer clear of all of them because they couldn’t help but be mean assholes bent on winning whatever prize was put in front of them. I knew something about Fathers Who Suck, but this was not winning any sympathy from me at the moment.
Just then, a teacher rounded the corner and looked at us.
“Is there a problem here?” he said.
I didn’t bother to argue. I just shook my head and got the hell out of there.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 11
Subject:
No frills
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I had scheduled a lot of sulking for most of my peer mentor time today.
“Is it the work, Brynn? Because honestly Mr. Grimm would be happy if you wrote a paragraph or two for this essay,” Lacey said. “I see you dictating to your laptop all the time. I see you typing. Why are you refusing to do this? Do you have something against”—she glanced at my binder—“the Free Exercise Clause?”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Then why are there no sentences for me to edit? You could lead with that. ‘I have nothing against the Free Exercise Clause.’ Thesis statement. Boom.”
I sighed. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Is it about the First Amendment?”
“No.”
“I will answer one question of your choosing for every sentence you write,” she said.
I typed, “The Free Exercise Clause is a good idea because you can worship Satan if you want to.”
Lacey sighed. “Well, it’s not inaccurate.”
“Does it bug you if people think you are…” I searched for words. What did Adam think I was? Stupid? Worthless? “Not worth their respect?”
Lacey sat quietly for a minute. “Is this about Sarah?” she said.
“No. I mean … no. Something else.”
“I guess I quit caring what other people thought a long time ago.”
“Yeah. But what if they get in your face?”
Lacey pointed to my laptop.
“It’s not that Satanism is the best religion; it’s the idea that a person should not be stopped from observing their beliefs by the government,” I read aloud as I typed.
“People generally don’t get in my face. Sometimes they stare. Sometimes they pretend I’m not there. It can be annoying, but mostly I have my own thing going on.” Lacey shrugged.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Ignore the jerks, Brynn,” said Lacey. “They aren’t worth your time.”
“Okay, peer mentor,” I said.
“Now write your essay. I will care if you make me look bad. You should worry about that.”
“All right, all right.”
I wrote enough to make Lacey happy.
Who cared what stupid Adam thought?
I did. At least a little.
Because I knew Sarah thought like Adam a lot of the time.
I shouldn’t care about her, either.
But I did.
At least a little.
Or a lot.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Inbox
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 11
Subject:
RE: Questions
Dear Rachel Maddow,
Mr. Grimm asked me, “What are you passionate about?” Not to sound too pathetic again but, currently, nothing. Before, I’d say I was passionate about my family. [Good.] I had it pretty good for about a decade. I loved those stupid people. Mom was an amazing nurse, and Dad worked the Bar, Rod, and Wire division at the steel plant. Mom quit when Nick was first caught with Oxy, and that actually went okay. Dad still made good money. Nick went to some wilderness place that made him see that Selling Was Bad. But then Dad lost his job and thought Mom was being too easy on Nick. He tried his own version of “tough love,” but Nick hated that and went back to making fast money. He could buy his Xbox games or whatever without Dad yelling at him to get a real job. So Nick kept getting kicked out of the house. Mom freaked, Dad left, Dad came back, Mom slept with the Fart Weasel … or something like that. My grandparents are all dead, and I’d never heard good things about them anyway. Now it’s just a big heaping pile of shit, my family. [You know what, Brynn? I’m not going to delete text anymore. You have a lot of difficult things to express and expletives help you do that clearly. However, you do realize you are turning this in to a teacher and (in theory) a public news figure, yes?]
“Brynnie, as soon as you turn eighteen, you will come live with me,” Nick said the last time I saw him. “You and me against the world.” He smiled. Even with his weird pointy teeth, he still had a great smile.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll have our own place with the best parties. I’ll make buffalo chicken dip for the games, and we will witness the Steelers crush the Patriots’ football dynasty once and for all.”
“Damn right, kid,” he said. He slung his black leather jacket over his shoulder and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. He was like a short, fat, stoned James Dean. He died a week later. I can’t even think about buffalo anything now without wanting to puke.
I know, Rachel, you’re a Patriots fan. But don’t worry. No one’s perfect. [Truth.]
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Inbox
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
October 12
Subject:
RE: Questions
Dear Rachel Maddow,
“What bothers you?” Mr. Grimm asked me. I think this is meant to be an inspiring political question for your sake. [Yes.] But. [Sigh.] Everything around me bothers me. I live amidst trees. Not pretty trees, but ugly evergreens that would really benefit from shedding their needles and getting new ones in the spring. The people here in Westing bother me, too, because they are kinda like the trees. We’d all be better off if we burst into flames like a phoenix and got up stark naked out of the ashes with soft, fluffy feathers. Instead, the cold gets to you and then the heat gets to you, and pretty soon you forget the blue sky goes up forever, and your gaze doesn’t lift above the billboard for the dairy that closed a decade ago. Even the crowd I used to run with is a lot like that. Sarah swore she’d get out of this town and go to an Ivy League and Save Us All. But will she? She probably will. Her dad worked steel like mine. Now he’s a greeter at the Walmart. That will probably make good admissions essay fodder. [Honestly? You are probably right.]
Today I passed Sarah as she was asking people to sign yet another petition.
“Brynn,” she said warmly. I’d say she sounded like a newscaster, but I wouldn’t want to insult you.
“Oh, we’re talking now, are we?” I said.
She flinched a little. Crimson crept from her ears to color her face the same shade as her skirt. She had her hair up in a perfect blond power ponytail. Strands of golden yellow framed
her face. The sight of her engaging in civic involvement was so enticing I wanted her to grab me and kiss me and swear she’d never leave me again. [Evocative. Please, Brynn, let’s spare the evocative in assignments turned in and save it for your obviously colorful memoir.]
“Brynn,” she said again instead. “There is something incredibly important happening. The school board has decided to let a student join the committee to choose a new school superintendent. Do you know what that means?”
“I assume it means that the school board is going to let a student help choose the new school superintendent, Sarah,” I said.
“Yes. So, obviously this individual should represent the entire student body. We have to make sure the right person is chosen.”
I didn’t care in the least, but I nodded anyway.
“So will you sign?” She thrust her clipboard at me.
A long paragraph at the top of the page was typed in, I swear, five-point font. I squinted at it. “What does this say?” I bent down, trying to read the words. “We the student body recognize the importance for a thoughtful, nuanced voice to represent us…’”
“Just sign it, Brynn. I told you what it said.” She sighed. “Pretty please?” she said in her you’ll-do-this-if-you-love-me voice. Now I was the one who flinched.
“Wait a minute,” I said, still reading. “This basically says you want only an Honors student on this committee?”
Dear Rachel Maddow Page 3
